


A Philadelphia Story

by lady_slice



Series: Memoirs from a Good Doctor [6]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28059678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_slice/pseuds/lady_slice
Summary: "Of course, when Sherlock and I travel abroad, we are undoubtedly met with a mystery involving none other than a cemetery and a ghost..."Sherlock and John visit an old mansion in Philadelphia which leads to an eventful night involving rampant ghostly antics and equally rampant family drama.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Memoirs from a Good Doctor [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640503
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

_December 6, 1891_ ,

_Of course, when Sherlock and I travel abroad, we are undoubtedly met with a mystery involving none other but a cemetery and a ghost…_

_It all started when an American businessman by the name of Andrew McArthur had encountered our adventures from the papers which led him to inviting us to stay with his family for a week in Philadelphia. However, during our first evening there, we were interrupted by a compelling, yet very strange ghost story…I will do my best to explain it here, but I fear I will not be able to capture the mood of the encounter…_

* * *

“Wait…do you see it?”

A woman and a man were looking outside a window out onto a well-manicured cemetery barely illuminated by the night sky.

“Not now—oh my god!” Shouted the man, “there it is!”

They watched in horror as a shadowy figure crossed the cemetery, hiding behind tombstones, popping out from behind every other stone before sprinting to the gated entrance of the cemetery away from the house where both the man and the woman were viewing the eerie scene.

The woman turned to the man; her face was ashen from what they had finally caught with their own eyes.

“What do we do? Father’s friends are visiting this weekend. And he is going to show them this house.”

The man nodded slowly, clearly thinking deeply before replying to his sister. “Nothing. It only seems to appear occasionally.” He then turned quickly to walk away from the window.

The sister gasped. “Nothing? You cannot be serious…” she ran after her brother, reaching out a hand to stop him before he could get away further, “the ghost—”

“Mary!” The brother shouted, waving his free arm, “stop being ridiculous. It’s _not_ a ghost. Someone’s pulling a prank.”

Mary shook her head. “James, please. We must tell father.”

James shook his head. “No, let it be, Mary. Maybe we can convince him not to take the guests here.” And with that, he walked away from his sister as he headed to saloon to exit the house.

James hesitated as he approached the door, taking a deep breath before walking briskly out of the house and toward their automobile. Mary wasn’t too far behind, but she stayed on the portico, looking back and forth out onto the driveway, too scared to follow.

“James! James!” Mary shouted, waving at her brother, “please drive over here to pick me up!”

James audibly grumbled back at his sister but ultimately drove in front of the portico, so Mary didn’t have to walk too far down the driveway. As soon as Mary was in the passenger seat, the engine sputtered as they were whisked out of the cemetery and onto the main street toward their family’s mansion.

* * *

“Aw, Philadelphia! This is wonderful, isn’t dear?”

Sherlock and John were standing on the docks floating on top of the Delaware River. Sherlock was taking in the scene while John was holding all their luggage.

“Holmes,” John dropped a bag, “why did you bring so much for a week’s visit?”

Sherlock barely acknowledged his companion as he continued to marvel at people hustling about in front of them.

“Now,” Sherlock rummaged around in his coat pocket for his letter correspondence with their host who had sent him a very detailed instructions about how to get to the McArthur mansion, “we must figure out how to fetch a hansom to Mr. McArthur’s estate, which is on the other side of the city…”

John struggled, dropping some more luggage which caused the nosiest crash. Some of the dock workers sneered at him as they tried to get by to tend to other ships and cargo.

“…I suppose if we walk to 3rd...”

“Holmes!” John shouted, now standing in a pile of their luggage, causing Sherlock to turn around to gawk at him, “can you please help me with the luggage. Most of this is yours.”

Sherlock sighed as he walked over to the pile, picking through pieces before grabbing a small suitcase. “Watson, why did you bring so much for a week’s visit?”

John’s face turned beet red, too frustrated to think clearly. “Holmes, this is _your_ luggage. You always overpack.”

Sherlock shook his head as he showed John the luggage that had colorful ties attached to the handle to indicate which was theirs.

“No, dear. Not this time because I knew you would fuss. This is all of ours,” he pointed to the pieces he separated from the rest, “and it seems as if you have stolen someone else’s valuables.” He pointed behind John at a couple of women standing behind them, clearly annoyed that John had taken their bags.

John’s face grew even redder as he turned slightly to face the frustrated looking couple before turning back slowly to face Sherlock who only shrugged.

“Uh,” John started, turning back toward the incensed couple, trying his best to convey his sincerest apologies, “I am so sorry.”

One of the women walked up to the pile before angrily grabbing her things. Sherlock and John watched her walk away before turning to each other.

“Really, Watson? Now I must add ‘thief’ to your file?” Sherlock huffed as he walked toward the direction of the nearest street to hail a hansom.

John grumbled to himself as he followed but the word “file” suddenly stopped him in his tracks. “File? _What_ file, Holmes?”

Sherlock stopped at the corner of the street. “I keep a file on everyone I know for research purposes. Yours is the most extensive, of course.” He answered as if that wasn’t the strangest thing John had ever heard him say.

Yet, John only sighed, not too shocked really by his companion’s overt behavior that only just fell in line with his eccentric personality.

“Watson!” John looked up to see that Sherlock was halfway down the street, “let’s move quickly! We’re expected!”

John gathered himself and the rest of the luggage before sprinting after his companion.

* * *

_Not long after…_

As soon as the hansom carrying Sherlock and John stopped in front of a giant portico attached to an even greater and more giant mansion, they spotted a man wearing work clothes out in front, waving at them.

“Mr. Holmes!” The man continued to wave vigorously with a broad smile.

“Ah,” Sherlock turned to John, “this must be Mr. McArthur.” He explained pointing to the man on the portico.

John gawked at the man. “ _That’s_ Mr. McArthur? He looks like the gardener.”

Sherlock laughed as he motioned for John to pick up their luggage as he descended the hansom to greet Mr. McArthur.

“Mr. McArthur,” Sherlock accepted a firm handshake from Mr. McArthur who had walked down the front stairs toward the hansom, “it’s quite the pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

Mr. McArthur laughed heartily. “Mr. Holmes, please! It’s my pleasure to have the great Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson stay with my family for a week,” he then shook John’s hand before turning toward the front of the house, beckoning them inside, “you have no idea how delighted we are. You’re quite the talk at dinner.”

Sherlock and John followed Mr. McArthur into the house and into the vestibule as Mr. Arthur continued on about how wonderful it was to have them visit Philadelphia. As they spoke, music from a reed organ filtered in through the vestibule from the front parlor.

“That sounds beautiful.” Sherlock stopped near the entrance of the parlor, pointing toward the source of the music.

Mr. McArthur nodded with another smile. “That’s my dear daughter, Mary. She always practices on that damn thing around this time. My son, James, is out at the office on Market meeting with some clients.”

“Monsieur McArthur!” A perturbed woman appeared at the other end of the hall passage close to the kitchen, “you’re dragging dirt throughout the house again!”

Mr. McArthur waved the woman off. “And this is our dearest maid, Madame Loire. She’s from France!” He added as if originating from France was Madame Loire’s most impressive yet annoying quality.

“Monsieur McArthur.” Madame Loire repeated sternly, crossing her arms as she tapped her foot in indignation.

Mr. McArthur rolled his eyes as he sighed loudly. “Okay, okay. I’ll change my clothes,” he turned to face Sherlock and John, “why don’t you make yourselves comfortable in the parlor and,” he then turned to Madame Loire, “perhaps Madame Loire can bring you some tea?” He nodded at her with a wink, causing her to sigh before turning around to head into the kitchen.

Mr. McArthur showed Sherlock and John around a bit longer while ignoring that he was still dragging dirt throughout the house.

“I’ll be down in a second.” Mr. McArthur then ran quickly up the grand stairs, “and can someone please take their luggage upstairs! What am I paying you all for?” He shouted as he ran through the second floor to his bedroom. Suddenly, one of Mr. Arthur’s butlers appeared out of nowhere to haul Sherlock and John’s bags up to their room.

“Oh, uh…” John jumped out of the way as the man tried to reach for the bags, “that’s quite all right. We can take them.”

The butler looked back and forth at Sherlock and John. He took a moment, shrugged, and then walked briskly away from them toward the other end of the hall.

John laughed awkwardly, causing Sherlock to reach out to rub his arm to help him retained his composure.

“Dear…” Sherlock whispered with a smile.

John nodded. “Yes, I know. I just feel uneasy being waited on.”

Sherlock nodded before pointing to the parlor. “Shall we?” John nodded back as he let Sherlock walk ahead of him.

As they entered, they found an elegant looking woman playing a reed organ in the back corner, seemingly unaware that she now had an audience. Sherlock and John watched her play for some time before she suddenly stopped and turned, gasping out loud in fright from the disturbance.

“Oh dear! You frightened me.” The woman explained, placing a hand on her chest as the color returned to her face.

Sherlock shook his head as he approached her. “We’re sorry, Miss McArthur. We didn’t mean to disturb you. Your father showed us in.”

Mary nodded timidly, reaching out her hand to shake Sherlock’s but she stayed on the stool in front of the organ.

Sherlock eyed her before turning slightly toward John. “And this is my companion, Dr. Watson.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss McArthur.” John greeted with a smile.

“Likewise, Dr. Watson.” Mary greeted back, now seemingly less spooked than she was before.

“Why, Miss McArthur,” Sherlock began, “you act as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Mary turned red as she turned away from them slightly. She rung her hands together, taking a moment before rising from her bench.

“Mary!”

Everyone turned toward the entrance of the parlor at the sound of a voice calling for Mary coming from the hall.

“Mary! Oh, sorry…,” a man had entered the room, outwardly surprised to see Mary in the parlor with Sherlock and John, “didn’t realize we had company…”

Mary nodded quickly as she rose from her seat to walk toward the man. “James, father’s guests are here. You remember…Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson.” She reached out a hand toward Sherlock and John.

James looked at his sister before eyeing Sherlock and John. A few seconds past before his expression changed, finally greeting his family’s guests.

“Yes, of course,” James reached toward Sherlock to shake his hand, “pleasure to make your acquaintance, gentlemen. Our father is more than excited to have you both staying with us. God knows he can’t shut up about it.”

Both Sherlock and John managed to ignore James’s last comment as they took turns shaking the young man’s hand.

“Yes, Mr. McArthur,” Sherlock turned so that he could face both James and Mary, “no doubt my companion will tell you how excited I’ve been to visit you all this week.”

James nodded at his sister. “Ah, well, but based on what I’ve heard about you, I’m sure we’ll all bore you both to death—”

“Ah, my children!” The elder Mr. McArthur appeared in the parlor wearing an elegant dark smoking jacket, “glad to see that you’re both here.” He motioned for James to follow him through the room to the back parlor which was connected to the front with a large arch opening. Madame Loire was in the room setting up cake and tea.

“…son?” Mr. McArthur turned toward James before sitting down, barely waiting for Sherlock and John to take available seats, “how is the office?”

James nodded slowly as he sat down next to his father. “Everything’s fine, father. The client requested a meeting with you, but I told him you were busy until next week.”

Mr. McArthur laughed heartily before lighting a cigar. “I suppose I should take some time off seeing that we have esteemed guests in our presence.” He winked in Sherlock and John’s direction.

Madame Loire handed Sherlock a tiny plate with a slice of cake before wheeling the tea cart in front of John.

“Thank you, Madame Loire.” John said with a smile as he accepted some cake before trying to pour himself some tea, but it was a little awkward because the cart was facing too far away from him.

“Mr. McArthur,” Sherlock started after he effortlessly poured himself and John some tea, “you should tell us more about your business. I’ve only been able to glean what I know from the papers.”

Mr. McArthur laughed again, causing Mary who was sitting across from him, to roll her eyes. “My daughter hates it when I discuss business. She thinks it’s too grim.”

Mary huffed before taking a sip of her tea, but she didn’t respond. Sherlock turned in his seat to look at her directly.

“You don’t approve of the cemetery business, Miss McArthur?”

Mary turned red before sitting up straight in her chair. “I’m not approving of ghost stories, Mr. Holmes. Our father takes it upon himself tell tall tales.”

Mr. McArthur laughed loudly for the third time, almost spilling his cup of tea. James leaned forward in his seat with a loud sigh.

“You’ll have to excuse my family, gentlemen. Our father used to tell us ghost stories and they’ve only gotten more colorful as we’ve grown older, much to my dear sister’s disliking.”

Mary expressed her annoyance with her father’s childish behavior and her brother’s dismissiveness.

“It’s not kind to make up stories about the dead, James. You of all people should know that.” She shot her brother the most biting look that caused everyone else in the room to look back and forth at each other as an awkward silence intensified throughout the room.

“Well!” Mr. McArthur slapped an armrest to get everyone’s attention, “speaking of ghost stories, would you gentlemen be interested in visiting our newest acquisition?” He leaned toward Sherlock and John.

James reached out a hand toward his father. “Father, I don’t really think that’s a good idea. Our guests don’t want to see that old house—”

“Nonsense!” Mr. McArthur interrupted his son with a cheery tone, “why wouldn’t they want to see it?” he then turned to face Sherlock and John who were quietly taking in the family dynamics.

“Surely, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, the two of you _must_ appreciate fine architecture. My son does.” Mr. McArthur winked at James who rolled his eyes before settling back in his chair.

Sherlock nodded at John before facing Mr. McArthur. “This must be the house you acquired with the cemetery, correct?”

“Indeed!” Mr. McArthur slapped the armrest of his chair again, “say, what do you two gentlemen think of having dinner in the old house tonight? I’ll get my servants to go ahead and set it up for us.”

All eyes landed on Sherlock and John as the two could feel the tension mounting in the room. John turned slightly to look at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye; he could see a sly smile creep up slowly on his companion’s face.

“Why, McArthur,” Sherlock started, “that would be nice, but I don’t want your staff to go through so much trouble only to entertain us.”

Mr. McArthur shook his head quickly. “Nonsense!” He repeated as he jumped up from his chair before marching to the hall entrance into the parlor, “Madame Loire! Madame Loire! Madame—

“There’s no need to shout, Monsieur.” Madame Loire had appeared next to the opening.

Mr. McArthur grinned. “I’m sorry. Could you tell the rest that we’re having dinner at the old house tonight?”

Madame Loire peeked inside the parlor, looking around nervously before looking back at Mr. McArthur. “Of course, Monsieur.” She responded before turning around quickly to get back to the kitchen.

Mr. McArthur turned back toward the group, rubbing his hands with delight. “Well! We shall have an exciting dinner indeed tonight.”

Sherlock nodded as he rose from his chair. “Well, we should get settled before going over.” He motioned for John to follow him.

Mr. McArthur nodded as he walked with Sherlock and John back through the front parlor and out into the vestibule in front of the grand staircase.

“No one's taken your luggage?” Mr. McArthur questioned, frowning.

John waved him off with a smile as he reached downward to grab the bags. “It’s all right, Mr. McArthur.”

Mr. McArthur continued to frown at John, clearly confused that he was willing to take his own things upstairs. “Okay, suit yourselves. I put you and Mr. Holmes in the nicest guest room at the end of the hall on the second floor. You’ll see it. And take your time!” He then spun around on his heels before heading back into the parlor to join his children.

John grinned before turning to face Sherlock, but his companion was halfway down the hall. “Holmes?” John joined Sherlock who was leaning up against the wall, “what are you doing?”

Sherlock held up a finger to quiet John. “Listen, Watson.” He then pointed down the hall at two figures who were standing near the kitchen but were facing in such a way that they couldn’t see Sherlock and John spying on them.

John looked at the two figures, recognizing that one was Madame Loire, but the other was someone they hadn’t met yet.

“Holmes—”

“Watson, please!” Sherlock managed in a hushed voice. He waited before continuing, “Madame Loire is speaking to this young man in a _very_ familiar and intimate French tone, isn’t that strange?”

John squinted his eyes as he watched the pair before looking back at Sherlock. He sighed before walking back toward their luggage.

“Holmes, please. How many times do I have to tell you it’s not polite spying on people, especially when we’re staying in their home?”

Sherlock waved John off before making a whiny noise. “I wasn’t spying, I was observing, dear.” He then picked up his bag before heading up the stairs.

“Come, Watson. I am intrigued to see this old house that seems to have embroiled our hosts.”

John nodded he took a step forward before peeking down the hall back at Madame Loire and the young man.

“Watson, it’s not polite to spy!” Sherlock shouted from the top of the stairs.

John rolled his eyes as he then followed Sherlock up the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

_Later that evening at the old house…_

“This particular acquisition had been the most trying…”

Sherlock and John were standing next to Mr. McArthur in the oval room near a window overlooking the cemetery as the latter talked on and on about purchasing the house and the cemetery.

“…but we got those bastards in the end, right son?” Mr. McArthur turned toward James who was standing off by himself in the corner near the fireplace, only nodding back at his father.

Mr. McArthur waved his son off with a frown before leaning in toward Sherlock and John. “James went to school to study architecture—actually he went to that fancy school out in Paris! ‘Echole’ or something rather.”

Sherlock nodded. “The École des Beaux-Arts.” He corrected in a perfected French accent.

Mr. McArthur patted Sherlock on the shoulder hard as he laughed. “Yes! _The_ École as my son calls it. All I know is it was expensive. The school’s tuition was free—even for Americans!—But James’s lifestyle habits put a dent in my account!” He laughed heartily as he looked back at his son who looked annoyed by the conversation.

“He wanted to stay in Paris and study with some famous architect, but I had him come back here and help with the family business.”

Sherlock and John both nodded, however both could tell from James’s unwillingness to participate in the conversation that it was something of a sore subject.

“Well,” John clapped his hands together, “I’m sure young James can tell us all about this wonderful house.”

James sighed, but the comment seemed to liven up his spirits. “Perhaps I can give a tour?” He looked over at his father who looked bemused.

Mr. McArthur laughed again, but before he could respond, one of the servants walked into the room.

“Dinner is served.” He bowed before stepping to the side to let the group into the dining parlor.

The group found Mary barking orders at the servants to place everything in their correct spots. She then directed everyone else to take their assigned seats, sitting Sherlock in between Mr. McArthur and James and herself next to John. As everyone settled as the servants brought out the first course, Sherlock listened to Mr. McArthur talk about a hunting trip he recently attended while John listened to James and Mary talk about their various hobbies.

Sherlock listened to Mr. McArthur with patience before pointing to a wildly ostentatious brooch on his lapel.

“Are you part of the Guild, Mr. McArthur?”

Mr. McArthur looked down at his brooch before grinning up at Sherlock. “Mr. Holmes, _you’re_ aware of the Guild? Well, I don’t think I should be surprised by that.”

Sherlock laughed. “Indeed. I know it’s a secret, but the society has origins in England, am I correct?”

Mr. McArthur laughed. “Yes! That is true, but I would be careful Mr. Holmes,” he then leaned inward toward Sherlock, dropping his voice to a low whisper, “you’ll need to keep the Guild a secret. We are capable of many things.” He then winked at Sherlock.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, clearly amused at whatever Mr. McArthur may had been hinting at. “Oh, I am very aware. It’s my business to be.” He leaned away from Mr. McArthur who looked intrigued by the comment but before he could respond, Madame Loire appeared, reaching forward to retrieve empty plates.

As she reached forward near Sherlock, something fell out of her pocket. Sherlock noticed and reached downward to recover it for her.

“Madame Loire, you dropped this.” He smiled up at her as he handed her what looked to be photograph of a younger version of herself with a small child.

Madame Loire’s face turned red as she accepted the photograph. “Merci, Monsieur Holmes.”

Sherlock nodded as he pointed at the photograph. “Is this you and your son?”

Madame Loire’s face turned even more red. She nodded her head quickly before shoving the photograph back into her pocket.

“…yes…” She responded quickly.

Sherlock smiled. “You two must be very close then.”

Madame Loire stared at Sherlock before shaking her head quickly. “No…we…haven’t spoken for some time…” She looked around the room, “please excuse me, Monsieur.”

Sherlock nodded as he watched Madame Loire walk away briskly, but he paid little attention to it before turning back to Mr. McArthur who was in the process of beginning another hunting trip story.

After finishing dinner, the group then retired to the back parlor connected to the dining parlor to have tea. Both Sherlock and John were listening to James recount his experiences in Paris while Mr. McArthur and Mary were standing near one of the windows speaking quietly to one another.

“…I was one of the finalists for the Rome prize…” James said quietly with a smile, “I would have tried again, but my father asked me to come back to Philadelphia.”

Sherlock nodded with a smile. “That’s quite the achievement, James. If you ever get the chance, you most certainly should try again.”

James nodded with a shrug. “Maybe, but—”

A boisterous bump followed by a crash from upstairs interrupted James, stopping everyone midsentence. Mary screamed causing her father to pat her on the shoulder to get her to remain calm.

“Mary, please dear. It was probably one of the servants wrestling around upstairs.”

Mary shook her head as a stream of tears flooded down her face. “I knew this was a mistake!”

Sherlock stepped toward Mary and Mr. McArthur. “Why don’t we investigate what made the noise? I’m sure we’ll find that your father is correct, and it was most likely one of your family’s employees.”

Mary wiped her eyes with a handkerchief, finally nodding after a moment. She then looked at her father who only shrugged.

“Sure, let’s all quell Mary’s fears.” Mr. McArthur responded sarcastically which barely helped the situation.

Sherlock smiled at Mary before waving for everyone to follow him to the source of the noise. The group walked upstairs and into one of the largest bedrooms, but they found nothing besides some old furniture covered in cloth and paintings lined against the wall.

Sherlock stood in the middle of the space before turning to the group. “You see, Miss. McArthur. No ghosts to speak off.”

Mary nodded timidly as she joined Sherlock in the middle of the space. She looked around before sighing to herself.

“I suppose your right, Mr. Holmes.” She smiled slightly at Sherlock.

“Well!” Mr. McArthur rested his hands on his hips, “I think we can finally get all this ghost business behind us.” He then spun around quickly to exit the bedroom, “let’s all hurry back and try Madame Loire’s tarte tatin.”

Everyone, except Sherlock and John followed Mr. McArthur out. John joined Sherlock in the middle of the space.

“This family is quite interesting, wouldn’t you say?”

Sherlock nodded as he stroked his chin. “Quite.”

As Sherlock looked off into the distance, John rolled his eyes. He could tell that his companion was holding back a thought.

“What, Holmes? Please don’t tell me you believe the ghost story.”

Sherlock took a moment before turning his head to look slightly at John. “Care for a stroll, dear?”

John frowned at Sherlock, a little weary of his companion’s sudden shift in tone. “Uh, well…I suppose a nice stroll—”

Sherlock yanked on John. “Come along, Watson!” He then dragged John out of the room and down the stairs. They looked through the opening to the oval room to find the McArthur siblings speaking to themselves quietly, but there was no sign of Mr. McArthur.

“It’s a nice evening for a walk through a cemetery, isn’t it, Watson?” Sherlock was now in the vestibule near the front door. John looked back at James and Mary before sprinting to catch up with Sherlock.

After exiting the house, they walked down one of the paths and pass the tombstones until they came upon the carriage house which was not too far away from the main house. John stopped in front of the small building, but Sherlock proceeded inside.

“Holmes! Stop snooping around.” John tried calling.

“It’s fine, Watson! Come along!” Sherlock shouted from inside.

John grumbled to himself before following Sherlock. As he walked in, he found Sherlock standing next to a cot surrounded by a small table and some books.

John looked around the space before looking down at the cot; the carriage house looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

“Please don’t tell me someone’s been sleeping in here.” John remarked in distain.

Sherlock was crouched down near the cot, holding up a thin blanket. After a moment of observation, he took his time straightening up, but he kept his eyes on the cot.

John looped his arm around Sherlock’s, tugging him toward the exit. “I think this is a good opportunity for us to mind our own business. Everything about this old house and cemetery is giving me the chills.”

But before Sherlock could protest leaving the scene, a blood curdling scream pierced through the carriage house. Both men looked at the other before running out of the building to find that the scream was coming from the main house. They rushed back toward the house, running into one of the oval room to find Madame Loire had fainted in the middle of the space. Mary was holding her, waving a delicate fan near her face to give her some air.

“What happened?” Sherlock asked as both he and John walked into the room.

Mr. McArthur shrugged. “I need to get stronger willed servants, that’s what’s happened, Mr. Holmes.” He then huffed loudly before walking over to the fireplace.

John’s mouth fell open as he glared at Mr. McArthur for being so callous toward his staff before seeing to Madame Loire who looked to be regaining consciousness.

“Madame Loire?” John asked as he knelt toward the maid, “are you all right?”

Madame Loire made a noise before opening her eyes slowly. She looked around the room before looking directly at John who was now holding her hand.

“Dr. Watson? W-what happened?”

“It appears that you had a fainting spell, Madame.” John answered her as he checked her pulse.

“I-I think…” Madame Loire started, “I think…I saw…the…ghost.”

Silence punctuated the end of Madame Loire’s sentence as everyone in the room looked back and forth at one another, disturbed by the revelation.

“Everyone,” Sherlock interrupted the silence after a moment, “would you all please kindly wait in the back parlor. I think it’s time that Dr. Watson and I seriously investigate the comings and goings at this house.”

John sighed heavily as he helped Mary settle Madame Loire into a chair. “Holmes, I really think there’s a more plausible explanation for this.”

Sherlock nodded with a grin. “Perhaps, but I think we would be doing a disservice to our kind hosts if we do not investigate.” The response earned a groan from John who could no longer retain his polite composure in front of others over his companion’s antics.

Sherlock motioned toward the back parlor. “Now, everyone, would you all please wait in the parlor while Dr. Watson and I investigate?”

Everyone murmured to one another before shuffling into the back parlor. John sighed again as he joined Sherlock at the window.

“I suppose you mean to tell me that we’re going on a ghost hunt—”

But before John could finish his statement, the sight of a shadowy figure running across the cemetery and into the carriage house interrupted his thought. Sherlock gasped with delight as John hung his head, shaking it before taking in and letting out a deep, drawn-out breath.

“I am _never_ going on vacation with you again, Holmes.”

Sherlock gasped again before he curtly waved John off. “You’re verging a little on the hysterics, Watson,” he pointed to the vestibule’s exit, “let’s give our ‘ghost’ a moment before investigating the carriage house once more.”

John grumbled some more, but he knew he would have to continue on so that Sherlock could prove that there was no ghost, and they could finally enjoy their vacation. After waiting some time, they walked back to the carriage house with Sherlock slowly inspecting every little piece of possible evidence until he stopped to inspect some footprints leading outside the carriage house.

Sherlock took out a tape measurer to measure the footprints as John stood by, annoyed by the whole adventure.

“Size 10.” Sherlock retracted his tape measurer as he straightened up to stand next to John.

“So, our ghost wears a size 10 shoe. Fabulous.” John rolled his eyes.

Sherlock took a moment as he turned to look at John. “Watson, I’m sensing _quite_ the attitude from you this evening.”

John gawked at Sherlock who had turned away to head back toward the house. “Holmes, really. There’s no ghost. It’s probably some wayward gardener.”

Sherlock stopped walking, but he kept his back toward John. “For once, my dear Watson, you are on to something.” But he continued toward the house without explaining.

John sighed as he followed Sherlock but as they approached the house, they heard another hysterical scream, but this time it was a man’s voice. They ran quickly back inside the house to find that Mr. McArthur had fainted in the oval room and Mary was doing her best to make him comfortable.

Sherlock stepped into the room. “Dr. Watson, could you please assist Mary with her father.”

John nodded as he walked over to Mary to help get Mr. McArthur more comfortable.

Sherlock motioned toward Madame Loire and James who were standing near the fireplace. “Madame Loire and Mr. McArthur,” Sherlock pointed toward two available seats, “could you please take a seat?”

Madame Loire and James looked at each other before sitting down. Sherlock then walked to the middle of the room as he began explaining his findings of the evening’s events.

“While my companion and I were outside inspecting the carriage house. We found evidence that someone had been sleeping there…”

“What!” Mr. McArthur shouted, “I knew I needed better locks.” He attempted to sit up straight in his chair, but he slumped to the side.

Sherlock motioned for Mr. McArthur to remain calm. “Also, it appears that the carriage house inhabitant wears a size 10 shoe…”

Everyone murmured before Mr. McArthur turned toward James with a quizzical expression. “Son? Isn’t that the same sized shoe you wear?”

James turned bright red as he sat up straighter in the chair, causing everyone else to gasp at the revelation.

Mr. McArthur looked around at everyone, seemingly confused by the reaction. “No really, that’s the size my son wears. I would know because I bought him so many pairs of shoes when he was at the ‘Echole’.” He mispronounced the name of the prestigious school once more as he did a little shimmy with his hands part way in the air.

James groaned loudly, sinking into his chair as everyone else stared back at him. “École, father. _École_.” He nearly shouted as if his father was hard of hearing.

Mr. McArthur waved his son off as Mary stood up from her chair. “Mr. Holmes, those footprints cannot belong to James…” She looked back at her brother whose expression had change to indicate that he knew where she was headed next.

“…I’ve…seen the ghost…with James—"

“Mary!” James jumped up from his seat to join his sister, “remember what we talked about?”

“Children?” Mr. McArthur also stood up from his chair but then he plopped back down, “you _knew_ about this ghost?”

Mary nodded before turning back to face Sherlock. “We saw it before you arrived, Mr. Holmes. It’s been here for quite some time…so I know that it’s not James…”

Sherlock looked back and forth between the siblings then at Mr. McArthur before backing away from the huddle. Mary then explained in agonizing detail that she and James had seen the ghost a few days ago while they were visiting the house to retrieve some linen Mary had found from upstairs.

“I know the ghost is not Mr. McArthur the younger,” Sherlock explained after Mary finished her story. He then turned to face the older Mr. McArthur who was now sitting up, but he still looked woozy from fainting.

“Mr. McArthur?” Sherlock started, looking at the older Mr. McArthur, “could you please perform the ‘Lotus Encounter’?”

The color drained from Mr. McArthur’s face as he looked back and forth between Sherlock and everyone else.

“…Mr. Holmes…I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, but—”

“Mr. McArthur, I realize that some secrets need to stay secrets, but this a matter of great importance that requires your cooperation,” he then stepped to the side for Mr. McArthur, “so please, sir. I’m sure your business partners wouldn’t appreciate knowing that a ghost is haunting their most recent acquisition.”

Mr. McArthur stared back at Sherlock before slowly rising from his chair. Sherlock motioned toward a window.

“Please, in front of this window, sir.”

Mr. McArthur winced before walking over to the designated window. He took a moment before sighing to himself, motioning around with his arms as he very awkwardly and very strangely performed a secret ritual associated with the Guild. The expressions on James’s and Mary’s faces betrayed that they were now doubly embarrassed by their father and his secret society.

As soon as it appeared that Mr. McArthur was near the end of the ritual, everyone crowded around the window, looking out onto the burial landscape, seeing a shadowy figure emerge from behind a tombstone.

“Oh my god!” Mary shouted, pointing in horror, nearly poking her brother in the eye, “there it is!”

Sherlock grinned as he waved for her to settle down, holding up an index finger before pointing back to the ghost. The group watched as the ghost mimicked the same exact moves that Mr. McArthur completed not too long ago.

“My god…” Mr. McArthur gasped, “it knows the ritual? How can that be?”

But before Sherlock could answer, Madame Loire swore in French loudly before letting out a shrill and then fainting to the floor.

“Madame Loire!” Mary turned to quickly prop their maid up, waving a fan near her face again to give her some air.

Sherlock watched for a second before turning to John, clearly unbothered by Madame Loire’s fainting spells.

“Watson? Will you join me, please?” He said as he headed toward the vestibule.

“Holmes!” John gasped in horror at Sherlock’s seemingly heartless attitude toward Madame Loire. He turned toward Mary and Madame Loire before turning in the direction Sherlock had run off in before looking out the window to see his companion running toward the ghost as it finished the ritual.

“Holmes!” John shouted louder, completely forgetting his obligations as a doctor as he panicked that Sherlock might end up hurting himself attempting to apprehend a ghost. John ran through the vestibule to the back porch, watching Sherlock tackle the ghost.

“Holmes!” John shouted even louder before running toward Sherlock wrestling around with the ghost.

“Give up! There’s no use now!” As he approached the commotion, John could see Sherlock trying to pin the ghost down.

“Okay!” John heard the ghost shout back, “please, you are hurting my arm!”

John stopped to see that Sherlock had the ghost pinned to the ground with its arm behind its back. John crouched down to help Sherlock stand the ghost up straight. They then walked the ghost back to the house to find everyone shocked to see that the ghost was not a ghost at all but—

“Everyone,” Sherlock addressed as he let John take a full hold of the culprit that had been terrorizing the entire evening, “this is Madame Loire’s son.”

Mary gasped; James looked around awkwardly; Mr. McArthur’s mouth fell open from not being able to respond; and Madame Loire stood firmly in place as if unwilling to explain.

Sherlock smiled as he walked into the middle of the room. “It was obvious from the very beginning that the ghost,” Sherlock turned to point back at Madame Loire’s son, “had help. I had my suspicions, of course.” He then looked directly at Madame Loire. “Madame Loire, you lied to me when you told me you hadn’t seen your son in ages, correct? Actually, I saw the two of you back at Mr. McArthur’s mansion before we came over here for dinner, correct?”

Madame Loire’s expression slightly changed as she finally nodded.

Sherlock smiled. “I saw you speaking with someone whom I had initially thought was also part of the house staff, but you were speaking in a familiar tone with the young man usually reserved for family members…”

Mr. McArthur stepped forward. “But, Mr. Holmes, how did you know that…,” he waved a hand at Madame Loire’s son,” this ghost over here knew the ‘Lotus Encounter’?”

Sherlock laughed. “Good question, Mr. McArthur. When we were upstairs investigating the loud bump we heard after dinner, I found a torn insignia from a piece of clothing that matched the brooch on your lapel, sir.” He pointed to the Guild path on Mr. McArthur’s lapel, “any member of the Guild when prompted by another member performing the ‘Lotus Encounter’, must do the same or risk excommunication from the Guild.”

Mr. McArthur looked at his lapel before looking back at Madame Loire. “But…but…why…? I don’t understand.”

Sherlock turned toward Madame Loire. “Care to explain, Madame Loire?”

Madame Loire sighed, taking her time before looking directly at everyone. “I was born in France, Monsieur Holmes, but I have been living in America for quite some time…I have some family here...some of my distant relatives came abroad during the Revolution to help the Americans…” she sighed again, looking downward before looking back up at everyone once more, “I took the post with Monsieur McArthur to scare him off this property…he’s planning to demolish the cemetery and the house without plans to move what’s here…I found out that some of my distant relatives are buried here…but I didn’t think you would be here, Monsieur Holmes. It was only to happen when Monsieur McArthur and his business associates were on the property.”

The end of Madame Loire’s explanation forced a quieting silence that was eventually broken by an awkward cough from Mr. McArthur.

Mary ignored her father as she stepped forward to address Sherlock. “But that doesn’t fully explain how the ghost could get access to the property. Only my father and James have the keys.”

Sherlock laughed before turning around to face James who was by now looking everywhere except at him.

“Care to explain, Mr. McArthur?” Sherlock said to James.

James continued to look around aimlessly before hanging his head. “I let Pierre onto the property…” He pointed at Madame Loire’s son.

“Son…” Mr. McArthur took a step toward James, “why in God’s name would you so something like this?” His voice was stern, but it was obvious he was too confused to be more upset.

James sighed. “Because, father, I don’t want to be in the cemetery business. I want to study architecture. You know that, but you refused to listen. I know it was foolish to get wrapped up in this, but you never listen to me.”

Sherlock stepped toward James and Mr. McArthur. “The footprint I found matched a relatively expensive shoe, and while I still believe that our ghost made the print…” He trailed off as he looked back at James who looked unwilling to explain.

James sighed loudly again. “I…gave…Pierre…the shoes. We knew each other back in Paris…” He turned slightly to look back at Pierre as his face turned red.

“Well,” perhaps unwilling to embarrass James any further, Sherlock quickly changed the subject, “I think we’ve all had quite the night.”

Mary walked toward her brother and her father who were avoiding looking at each other. “Father, you mustn’t be upset with James and Madame Loire…I know they did this ridiculous thing, but—”

Mr. McArthur waved his daughter off as he walked over to one of the windows. He sighed heavily as he rested his hands on his hip.

“I understand…I didn’t realize I’ve become such a bear…” he turned around to face the group, “Madame Loire, I promise we won’t demolish this cemetery…your service to our family is unmatched…” he then turned to look directly at James, “and son…if you want to go back to Paris to the…” he took a moment, “ _École_ …well...that’s…all right with me…”

James stepped toward his father with his arms out. “Father, thank you so much!” He tried to give Mr. McArthur a hug, but the latter recoiled before settling into the embrace.

John patted Sherlock on the shoulder as they watched everyone speak to one another about what to do with the cemetery and the old house.

“Holmes, I think you’ve done some good here today. Nice work.” John patted Sherlock on the shoulder.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he patted John’s hand. “Well thank you for the compliment, but can we now please enjoy our vacation, Watson?” He grinned at John before rejoining the group.

John smiled back him as he let Sherlock walk ahead before also joining the group to hear James excitedly describe the architecture of the house.


End file.
